Lewis looked ruefully from his father's face to the things on the bed
and back again. He felt himself flushing painfully. He opened his mouth
to speak and then closed it.

Suddenly Leighton's face lit up. He laughed.

"Well, well," he cried, "this is splendid! You've given me a new
sensation." He yanked a bath-robe from the bed. "Here, you savage, shed
those leather togs, but don't lose them. You'll want to take them out
and look at them some stuffy day. Now put this on and run to your bath."

When Lewis came back to the room he found most of his things had been
packed away in the big, new trunk. On the bed certain garments were laid
out. They were laid out in correct order.

Leighton stood beside the bed in a deferential attitude. His face was a
blank. "Will you be wearing the white flannels to-night, sir, or the
dinner-jacket? If you will allow me, I would suggest the flannels.
Sultry evening, and Mr. Leighton will be dining on the terrace."

"Yes, I'll wear the flannels," stammered Lewis.

"Your singlet, sir," said Leighton, picking up the undershirt from the
bed. Article after article he handed to his son in allotted order. Lewis
put each thing on as fast as his nervous hands would let him. He tried
to keep his eyes from wandering to the head of the line, where lay
collar and tie. The collar had been buttoned to the back of the shirt,
but when it came to fastening it in front, Lewis's fingers fumbled
hopelessly.